little death

There’s a conversation that happens in the show Emily in Paris about calling orgasms “little deaths” because they’re so intense that it’s like you die and are reborn as a new person. And I feel that way each time I finish a new book.

Bone Island, however, is one that I’ve spent the most time with. Weeks of mourning turned into months, and I found it was difficult to crawl out of one story to dive into an entirely new world with new characters that I really didn’t know. They were strangers to me, and I missed the grit and angst and desperation of Adora and Stone’s love story. After all that time, I should have been ready to let go and start anew, But I can’t.

Two months ago, another author and myself got into a conversation about it. I mentioned that perhaps authors needed to have funerals for their finished manuscript—reserve a graveyard in our hearts, six feet under, a coffin buried between the bones of our ribcages. It felt like grief, like I’ve lost loved ones, and I needed closure.

Afterward, she physically buried her book in a video.

Here’s my version. Bone Island’s obituary.




 After seven long months of being only a collection of thoughts, Bone Island, Book of Danvers, took its first breath on a blank screen by Nicole Fiorina in March of 2021 and died at the age of two in March of 2023. Bone Island is survived by Nicole Fiorina and the NF Gang.

Bone Island passed away in the comfort of its own home surrounded by the love and support of its author, hand in hand. The death was not sudden but a tragedy after suffering a long battle. The last four weeks were the hardest on the manuscript, with loss of words and paragraphs from multiple editors and proofreaders. And they did everything they could.

Bone Island was cryptic and secretive. A book wrapped in a treasure map. Many readers would say that it was sometimes quiet—a salty breeze, snowfall, a soft gaze. Though it was loud when it needed to be, with crashing waves between its lines and tears sinking into its spine.

Honest and passionate with skin made of stone, it held sisterly bonds, shed Heathen blood, and united a fractured coven. It taught us to cherish moments because all things come to an end, that everything, good and bad, have an impression on us, including our loved ones who leave us behind. The words on its pages only inspired that of choice over fate. That sometimes two people can have a love so strong it rivals that of predestined mates.

Bone Island challenged Nicole beyond what she thought capable, yet has taught her to slow down and enjoy the quiet, intimate moments of writing, and that the journey is as precious as the destination. The book was a reminder that there are no villains, only characters with their own motives, passions, beliefs, and upbringings, just like the world we live in. As a book should be. The author only became a better writer and person because of it, and she’s grateful for it opening her imagination to new ideas, characters, and plot devices that she can take with her for the rest of the series.

As Adora in Bone Island once stated, “Endings are inescapable. Coffee has a last sip. A song has a last note. A great story has a last page. Nothing can stop it. The sun sets, people die, you read the last chapter, you say goodbye. You move on. But if loud enough, if felt deeply enough, if this moment or person was so significant and changed your life, they became a part of you. You feel them floating on a melody, sewn into a breeze, laced in a scent, brought to life from words on a page. No one needs magic to remember them or feel them. They’ve already imprinted themselves. The nostalgic stamps that keep us grounded. Our lighthouse beams to keep us moving forward. Love is eternal, after all.”

That is what Bone Island leaves us with. An immortal love story that will continue on from one reader’s heart to the next. And an author who is forever changed by it. 



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